Studio Visit

Stuart Krimko

I was visiting Paul Klee
and I had to pee.
I went into this bathroom
and saw
a toucan's claw
Where did he get it?
I wanted to know.
It started to snow.
Paul mad tea.
I was empty of pee
and went back
to the kitchen
where he was
watching the water boil.
Life of toil,
emptiness and art,
where does pleasure
start?
The toucan's beak?
The strong over-
powering the weak?
I looked out the
window and saw
a pigeon with
a twig in its maw.
Paul put teabags
into a teapot
and later poured
tea into a teacup
for me, and
tea into a
teacup for him.
We drank tea
and watched the snow,
and Paul told me
everything I
wanted to know
about the terrible
life the toucan
had, and why
he kept its claw
upon his toilet.
Telling you
this story
would soil it,
so let's be content
with watching
the flakes, so
much like leaves,
wedding caks
scattered, or wedding
dresses tattered
When the tea was done
we said a prayer
for the sun, and
hoped it would
come back one
day. Paul had
nothing more to say.
I left him then.
The artist
and his toucan
claw, the snow
like matrimonials:
jungle leaves
of green,
a lushness for
which the artist grieves,
a pigeon
obsessed with a twig
I lit a cig-
arette.
The smoke
rose in the winter
sky like
a minaret.
I called myself
to prayer, watching
Paul's silhouete
prance and pirouette
in the window,
in the warm glow
of his next show.